


The Example of Her Students

by OutRes



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Exhibitionism, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Voyeurism, Jedi, Masturbation, Multi, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Other, Padawan (Star Wars), Sexual Fantasy, Slight Foot Fetish, Squirting, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, Zabraks (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:57:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19323217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OutRes/pseuds/OutRes
Summary: A routine meditation takes a turn. In that moment, Satele Shan learns much about herself, as well as a pair of delinquent Padawans.





	The Example of Her Students

To the uninformed observer, the day's close at the Jedi Temple on Tython might have seemed an inauspicious, even ominous affair.

A bastion of harmonious learning for a number of years, the Temple was set in such a location that it was occluded by shadow long before the sky's blue and clouds gradually transitioned to black and stars.

Many a sarcastic Padawan was known to comment on this, imitating in shrill cry their masters' warnings about the insidious encroachment of the Dark Side on all living creatures and, apparently, buildings too. In actuality, said masters saw the event as fitting, in a way; the many lights and lanterns of the temple's environs contrasted well with the shade, lending a Jedi-like sense of balance to the vista.

Bemused masters aside, none understood the symbolic purpose of a temple in shadow more than its architect, and current Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, Satele Shan. Not long after the temple's establishment, it became a routine, following her rounds amongst the training halls and libraries, to meditate cross-legged on a balcony atop the great edifice, which served as a perfect spot to view the rest of Tythos Ridge as it too lost its sunlit appearance.

 _Light above, dark below,_ she thought, observing the end of a day that was, all said, the very definition of inauspicious.

It was that day that the darkness inherent to the Force had come, in terrifying totality, to Tython. The Sith Lord, Darth Angral, had intended to raze the ancient Jedi homeworld using an amalgamation of destructive technologies, the Desolator. Thankfully, through the newly-titled Hero of Tython's intervention, his intentions went unfulfilled, and his superweapon was now a debris cloud orbiting the planet.

Yet, the effects of a Darth vengefully appearing above an, until now, safe haven of the Jedi were still quite apparent from Satele's perspective. The general atmosphere was still undoubtedly one of tension. From the youngest novice to the most-seasoned master, one question was ringing through the temple's spiritual infrastructure: _What happens next?_

After all, the seal was off the data-slate, as the temple's lorekeeper Master Gnost-Dural was known to say. Tython remained one of the most-protected worlds of the Republic, but many of the Jedi now believed that, should tensions again inflame into open war, the ancient world would firmly be in the sights of the Sith and their Dark Council, who would certainly follow Angral's lead in visiting destruction upon the site that shone as a beacon to Satele's Force-enhanced senses.

 _It would be a loss_ , she mused, _but the temple's origins themselves are a testament to rebirth._

It had been almost eight years since the Grandmaster, along with the High Council, had rediscovered Tython after a nearly-three-hundred-year period of obscurity. She remembered the day they all journeyed into the valley, using the Force to survey their surroundings, when it had appeared: A nexus of spiritual energy unlike any previously experienced. It was no great coincidence that the site was practically on top of the ancient stronghold of Kaleth, the ruins of which had since served as training grounds for students on the cusp of becoming full Padawans.

 _And the ruins of this temple will serve a use for future generations. Though,_ she wryly noted, _hopefully as more than a haven for combat training against malfunctioning droids._

The sun had now set on even the valley, and as such, the Grandmaster's senses were informing her that the Temple's inhabitants were finally beginning to stand down from the state of pained, constant vigilance that had defined most of their day. Visions of study sessions, saber sparring, and even other meditations coalesced in her mind, in addition to the burgeoning dreams of the not-insignificant number of students and staff that had simply decided to catch some shut-eye, in the old soldier's parlance.

 _I think the teacher will follow the example of her students on this one,_ Satele concluded with a fatigued smirk, and had begun to rise from the twilight-struck balcony when a significant mental jolt stopped her cold.

_What?_

Again. It was a reverberating tremor, one that all but announced itself in the elder Force-user's mind.

_Oh._

Some students were catching a bit more than some shut-eye, it appeared.

She extended her senses, wondering if any of the other masters had caught on to the dalliance going on beneath their proverbial noses, but no; be it through her physical location or exceptional Force attunement, only she had been struck with the brief image of the dark-haired Padawan Moracen, naked and writhing on her bunk as her Zabrak lover, the Padawan Spanios, energetically probed with his tongue her glistening vagina.

The Grandmaster chuckled, ever so slightly.

Before Angral's attack, the forbidden romance of Moracen and Spanios was The Prime Topic of the Temple's ever-spinning rumor mill. The two had been caught in a relationship by their respective masters, and had been separated to dormitories on opposite sides of the temple pending further disciplinary action.

Satele supposed that it had been the chaos of the day, combined with the fact that a substantial number of Padawans were currently-stationed to Tython's orbital platform to assist with repairs, that allowed for Spanios to somehow find his way past the hall wardens and into Moracen's dorm, among other things.

_But how might I approach this?_

As Satale pondered, another burst of passion sprang forth from the tryst and buffeted her mental defenses. Now, the female Padawan's face was fixed in a rictus of pleasure as she held onto Spanios' cranial horns for dear life. The Zabrak redoubled his efforts by flicking her swollen clit with a swift tongue.

The Grandmaster, a slight blush now forming on her features, had to marvel at the image, and its magnetic presence in the Force. _How is absolutely nobody else feeling this--_ and as soon as Satale had ventured the question, she knew its answer: A Force bond.

Not the kind of platonic bond that slowly developed between master and student during regular training; those were recognizable enough on Tython. This was more a flared binding of Force-sensitive souls locked in the throes of sexual pleasure. It obviously wasn't as permanent a connection, but it was unique in the sense that a nearby being, powerful in the Force - and already attuned to her surroundings - could latch on to the coupling and experience the sensations moving along it.

The bond was an unusual-enough phenomenon that most in the Temple lacked the savviness needed to separate it from the chaotic undercurrent of life on Tython, but Satele, growing ever pensive as waves of pleasure continued to wrack her senses, realized that she was no stranger to this kind of voyeuristic affair.

There were times, during the War, when then-Knight Shan had played unintentional witness to similar rendezvous between the Jedi who had accompanied her. It was easier then, for Satele to restrain her subconscious from latching on and embedding her mind in the experience, thanks to the tumultuous atmosphere of the battlefield. Then, it was merely just more "signal noise" in the air.

Here, though, amidst the relative tranquility of the Jedi Temple, her Jedi Temple, an extended Force-imbued nervous system digging deep into the earth of Tython, there was no such opportunity for distraction.

Another pulse of delight. Beneath her clothes, Satele could feel her pores beginning to trickle sweat between her shoulders and down the groove of her unsteady spine.

 _Oh,_ she morosely realized, a warmth growing in her core as she settled back down to the tiled floor, _they've switched positions._

She could stop this all now. She could exercise her authority as Grandmaster of the Jedi, stomp her way downstairs past the likely-dozing wardens, and all but forcibly separate the two from their intermingling. That would certainly break the bond, sparing Satele from... and it was here that she lingered.

 _From what? An evening of relief after one of my most trying days as this temple's guardian?_  

The self-rebuke was expected, but severe.

_You have a responsibility to them, Shan. They do not exist for your gratification._

This stymied the rapid onset of desire building within Satele, at least to some degree.

_Place yourself into a Meditation of Emptiness. Close off everything but the here and now._

She tersely nodded, preparing to submerge the tide of pure lust rising from within the ocean of her mind.

_There is no emotion, there is-_

"Blazes!"

It had hit her, and she was lost in it.

Pale toes dragging along tan biceps. Shimmering lips enveloping a glorious length. Eyes so dilated that Satele could see the stars themselves in them.

Opening her own eyes to the sight of her gauntleted hand reflexively gnashing against the rising heat of her covered crotch, the Grandmaster arrived at a final realization: Meditation was not an option.

She sighed.

Nor was assuming the role of the stampeding bantha, it seemed. In the end, they had earned this moment. And so had Satele.

Chancing a physical and mental glance around, she determined that there would be no onlookers to what was about to ensue on the balcony. Scooting to the side wall, Satele relaxed, her hands starting to work at the gold-colored catches on her sleeveless, brown synth-leather tunic.

Despite the fact that she still wore a cropped tan camisole underneath, the act of unfastening her utility belt and finally pulling open her close-fitting tunic felt like she was baring the core of her being to the world, and to the Force. The cool air of the balcony intertwined with the heat, both real and otherwise, radiating off Satele's fair skin. Moracen and Spanios were likewise situated, inverted head-to-toe in a concert of oral stimulation.

Under the reassuring glow of a freshly-ignited lantern, Satele then loosened the bindings on her gauntlets, and slid them off. Her hands now freed from the constricting leather and metal, Satele instinctively began to knead her sizable breasts, hardened nipples poking her palms through the thin material of her top.

She could be content with just this, for a time; partly-disrobed and groping herself, practically out in the open atop her own temple. It all lent a quality of exhibitionism that Satele found empowering, even if it was slightly counter to the Jedi teachings.

But she was already breaking more than a few rules that night.

Yet another burst, the most intense yet: Spanios had come, and hard. His long-withheld spunk had not only filled Moracen's mouth, but splashed in ribbons across her face. For her part, the female Padawan was blissfully drinking in the experience - both in regards to her lover's cum and to her own impending orgasm.

Satele's hand practically dove beneath the band of her grey combat leggings, determined to ride to an orgasm at the same moment Moracen did. Unsurprisingly, her arousal had soaked heavily through her cloth panties, and it was only by virtue of the leggings' thick material that it hadn't become evident on the outside.

The Grandmaster was far from new to the concept of masturbation, but in her fifty-ninth year, the temptation had waned somewhat, with meditation more often filling the role of stress relief. Still, Satele worked her nethers with a practiced hand, while the other eased the hem of her camisole up to the collarbone for simpler access to her pert mammaries.

Satele sighed as she leaned back against the wall, eyes knit closed in laser-focused concentration towards the stress relief of herself and her Padawans. Her right hand switched from playing with her dusky, engorged nipples to tenting her panties and leggings farther out, giving the left more room to maneuver as it plunged wet fingers past wetter folds. Moracen, in the meantime, was madly making out with her horned beau, who had joined her in fingering her bottom lips.

Though both parties had remained surprisingly quiet up to this point, those barriers were breaking down too. An almost-guttural moan emanated through the Padawans' lip-lock, though it was anyone's guess as to who exactly made it. There was no guessing, however, at the source of the noise on the balcony. As she got closer and closer to her orgasm, Satele was producing a sort of keening whine, probably unbecoming of her rank as she might tell herself later, but for now, that inner critic was smothered under a kiloton of pure arousal.

Boot soles scrabbled against the balcony flooring, as several levels down, generous calves trembled and pushed against thrice-soiled bedsheets. They were both almost there.

And then, like climbers summiting an impossible mount, they were.

If Satele was, indeed, simply latching on to this experience as a voyeur, it was far from evident. To the millisecond, hers and Moracen's orgasms had synchronized, propelling them both along a shuddering avalanche of pleasure. The Padawan's fluids geysered out, soaking the sheets and bedframe, as Spanios looked on in silent awe. Satele, having no such platform for her piss and ejaculate, was content with drenching her grey leggings, which were finally beginning to show external evidence of her adventure.

All the while, a look of utter euphoria separated both women from the physical world. Satele even appeared to have regressed in age by decades, so unburdened was her form.

Slowly, quietly, that form settled itself upon the ground, like a feather at rest. The expression displayed upon her features was that of unbridled contentedness at having been able to experience something so profound in an act as seemingly-base as physical pleasure.

The Grandmaster remained as such, for a minute, and then another.

But just as self-consciousness began creeping in, with the night's chill trailing closely behind, a buzz came over the disintegrating strands of her lecherous bond:

"Oh, love, it looks like your _saber's_ still _ignited_."

Satele let out an uncharacteristic but wholly-deserved groan, as the bond quickly re-solidified.

"Is... is it okay, if you..." The voice she recognized as Spanios awkwardly paused, as if its owner was gesturing towards something Satele could not yet perceive. "...do _that_?"

Another pause, though she could sense Moracen's relaxed mood turn sharply to delight.

"Well," the female Padawan suppressing a giggle, "you've certainly earned it."

The elder Jedi felt Moracen reaching out through the Force for something; before she could worry about the Padawan becoming aware of her presence, the echo of a hard object slapping into a palm reverberated through their bond. Satele's breathing hitched as she recognized the familiar implement: A Padawan's training sword.

More noises, of switching and clicking, as Moracen disengaged the vibro-powered blade from its hilt and sealed the circuit with the expertise of somebody who had done this far too many times, by the Grandmaster's reckoning.

Spanios, similarly engrossed in preparation, had mounted himself atop the stained sheets like a manka cat, and was liberally applying some sort of lubrication to his gradually-relaxing anus. _Probably some oil pilfered from the machine shop,_ Satele realized, a teacher's admiration settling in at the resourcefulness of these wayward students.

At that, the Grandmaster discovered that she too had some preparing to do. Though the heat of the affair was still quite pervasive, the cooling slick of her messed trousers had nevertheless become a distraction. Shifting off her tunic to use as a makeshift blanket, Satele folded her legs in and, one by one, unlatched the buckles on the pair of intricately-armored high boots she wore. When finished, she tugged at the heel until a stirrup-entwined bare foot popped free of the plated item.

After repeating the process with the other boot, the Grandmaster took a moment to relish the freeing tactility of sliding her weathered but still-delicate soles across the floor tiles, their cool affectation against her warm feet providing an invigorating sensation.

Following that, Shan stripped off her already-raised cami, leaving it atop the growing pile of clothes and equipment. Torso now completely bared, there remained but one impediment to this extended session of hedonism; and so, the elder Jedi hooked her thumbs under her panties, raised her hips, and slowly dragged them and her leggings down her resplendent legs. She took special care to observe and revel in the sight, the feeling, of her sodden underthings peeling inch-by-inch from her sticky, but immaculately-groomed mound.

The second these last bits of clothing cleared the tops of her toes, the Grandmaster flung them across the balcony to the opposite wall. She tingled in thrill at the idea of casting off the final effects of her office, leaving not a Grandmaster, not a Jedi, but simply a vibrant, majorly-aroused woman named Satale.

The woman named Satele immersed herself in this distant reality: She imagined permanently discarding her soiled trappings and leaping off the balcony, naked as the day she came into the universe, the Force cushioning a soft landing in the cool grass of the great forest below.

In Satele's now-past life, she had personally scouted this region, observing that the forests surrounding the Temple were unusually vast and full of dangerous fauna. In the end, the Grandmaster had classified them as potentially-hazardous to untrained students who might lose their way.

Well, she was neither a student, nor untrained.

She would live off the land a resourceful and wild being, capable of outwitting animal predators and the Flesh Raiders with a simple wave of her hand. On occasion, she might trade furs and herbs with one of the nearby Twi'lek pilgrims.

On occasion, she might even make love to one of them.

The vision came of such a coupling, high in the boughs of a precipitous ak tree, where creased, freckled skin would mingle with the hypersensitive blue, pink, or green lekku of a farmer. Or a soldier. Or a leader.

Before the face of that last, feminine figure could resolve in Satele's mind, she was ripped out of the dream by the perturbing impression of something pushing its way through the loosening ring of her anus. Her head snapped up in a momentary fearfulness that she had lost control of her bowels, but no; she'd simply forgotten the other participants of this fantasy.

The keening whine from earlier had returned, but it wasn't emanating from Satele. No, it was Spanios, the training hilt advancing deeper into his lubed hole, who had panted out the soul-baring cry.

This repeated penetration had managed to duplicate itself across the bond, widening Satele's puckered entrance to the point of gaping. A slight, wincing pain resounded from the area, but the Grandmaster was too transfixed at the new sensation to care.

Detouring slightly to gather the moisture of her quim on her fingers, Satele began to explore this cavernous new environment; she had never felt a fleshy surface this taut and strong. _Well,_ she amusedly admitted, _it better be, with all the times it's clenched up at Council meetings._ Whisking away a brief, passionate image of it becoming very, _very_ unclenched at such a meeting - probably, she realized, the most respectful thing she'd do tonight - Satele began pounding away at her own hole in earnest, adding more fingers to supplement the phantom insertion of the hilt.

She simply felt _filled_ , and the most aroused she'd been tonight. Her clitoris, she noticed, stood erect above its wrinkled hood, and with her free hand, Satele began to thumb it; at first gently, savoring the combined feelings of a full ass and a stiff clit, and then with an almost reckless abandon as Morcen too quickened the pace of her own ministration to Spanios' ass.

The Zabrak was near-incoherent now, so swollen was his cockhead that its head was bobbing down and brushing the bed, exciting the nerve endings. His female companion, wide-eyed in concentration, muttered sensually. "Come on, come for me, you beast." Both Spanios and Satele moaned non-committedly. "Don't make me turn it on." The male moaned again, decidedly more committedly, while his elder, unobserved to all, blew air through her teeth in unprecedented excitement.

"Don't make me do it," she said, with a knowing smile.

A beat.

A click.

A **yell** , deep-throated, as the power source within the hilt kicked on, producing a resonating vibration akin to that of a starship's hyperdrive.

The Padawan and his Grandmaster did not merely orgasm, but _shattered_.

Spanios' arms failed, his horned head poking holes in the mattress as it fell. His toned legs fared slightly better, managing to support buttocks now twitching high in the air as the Zabrak's rod spewed an unfathomable amount of semen that managed to batter not only the bed, but his own torso and face, too.

Satele was likewise near-paralyzed by the event, her spasming, sweating body sliding flat to the ground as her soul momentarily transcended time and space. For perhaps too long a time, she was an apparition, lustily cavorting above a prone, middle-aged woman who shined in the lantern light.

Whose toes were curled to the point of cramping.

Whose holes rapidly discharged not waste, but proof of an evening unlike any other in her life.

Whose eyes steadily refocused, as her selves came back into balance.

_Wow._

A shuddering breath.

_Wow._

And then a few more, accompanied by afterimages in the Force's ether: A gentle Moracen guiding her spent lover off a now-desolated bunk. A footlocker's lid creaking open to reveal a thick fur blanket. Finally, the two Padawans, blanket-ensconced and embracing, sleeping faces devoid of worry.

With that, Satele's bond dissolved, but she couldn't say the same of theirs.

She had to respect them, at the very least. They were understanding, and sensitive to the other's needs. Smart, too, to not risk vaginal sex without protection. She knew the lengths they had gone to in order to keep the tryst secret from their masters; theft and bribery, mainly, but those petty crimes now seemed all-the-more meaningless in the face of a relationship that was clearly more than the shallow fling that she'd expected it to be.

Satele sighed, a measure of grief obvious in her exhalation.

_But I still have to do my duty._

Standard procedure for dealing with deeply-attached students was embarkment to separate agricultural colonies for two years, then re-enrollment at different training academies. In the Grandmaster's experience, the act of toiling in the fields with Jedi who had failed their apprenticeships was more than enough to scare even the most-lovestruck Padawan back onto the Jedi Path.

The same would be true of Moracen and Spanios, she knew.

She plainly wished otherwise.

The Grandmaster's eyes suddenly fluttered with the nascent awareness of yet another growing problem.

_My back aches. And it's cold._

She _was_ still quite nude and prostrate on the balcony, after all.

Satele slowly sat up, hips and buttocks grinding into a thin puddle of Force-knew-what. Getting her legs beneath her, she rose until she finally stood above a befouled tunic still in receipt of sticky rivulets running down its owner's legs and feet.

 _I am not wearing this back to my quarters,_ the Grandmaster resolved.

She glanced at the adjacent - and surprisingly neat - pile of gear, doing a mental inventory.

_Cami, belt, gauntlets, boots. Good. Still wearable, unlike this poor tunic, and my pa-_

Satele paused, and turned slowly to face the opposing wall.

_Where are my pants?_

She had thrown the entangled pair of leggings and panties in this direction, and yet, neither was to be seen. Satele padded around the balcony, checking planters and light fixtures, all to no avail.

_The breeze must have caught them. Blast._

Satele idled in that thought for a moment, and chuckled, ever so slightly.

_The Force was with them._

She strolled back to her mess, carefully picking up the damp tunic and shaking it out in the open air, before folding and placing it atop the rest of her gear. She focused her powers on the bundle for a second, before turning to leave.

Grandmaster Satele Shan, naked as the day she came into the universe, strode confidently back into the confines of her Jedi Temple, possessions levitating in her wake.

**Author's Note:**

> Alt title: "That feeling when you come so hard, you become a Force ghost"
> 
> This was fun, I think! No idea if it's obvious or not, but this was also my first smut fic; I initially wanted to write something that explored Satele as a sexual individual outside the usual ships of Jace/Marr. Then I discovered that the kissin' Padawans the player runs into on Tython had absolutely no fanfic, uh, anywhere, so I incorporated them. In all, I think it turned out well, if a bit dry in prose.
> 
> I definitely want to revisit that forest-recluse fantasy of Satele's as a standalone AU work. I've worked out what other characters I want to include, but less-so the overall arc of the narrative. We'll see what happens with that.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
